


Sex, Drugs, and ...Subtitles?

by monaboyd_archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: Angst, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-04-06
Updated: 2004-04-06
Packaged: 2018-04-11 13:58:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4438139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/monaboyd_archivist/pseuds/monaboyd_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dominic doesn't really like amount of attention Billy gives his girlfriend (Ali Makinen). The Viagra doesn't help things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sex, Drugs, and ...Subtitles?

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Shirasade: this story was originally archived at the Monaboyd.net Archive, which was closed in September 2014 due to software issues and a lack of new submissions for several years . To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in October 2014. I e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact me using the e-mail address on the Monaboyd.net Archive collection profile.

Dominic’s eyes are riveted to the telly. The movie is some terrible French flick, with a lot of talking and sitting in cafes and reading poetry and almost no action. His only consolation is that he _did_ protest, suggesting anything _but_ (his first choice being _Finding Nemo_ for the umpteenth billion time), but had been unfortunately vetoed. He knows _why,_ of course – because Ali chose the film. Billy had met his eyes over her head and shrugged helplessly and cast his vote with her because she is his girlfriend, and he’s supposed to compromise and do what she likes every once in a while.

Nevermind his mates.

Dominic mentally crosses the last thought from his mind, hits the ‘delete’ key and pretends that it was never there. He’s not jealous, he tells himself, because Billy and Ali make a wonderful couple, and she makes Billy happy, and that’s all that matters. They’ve been together for ages _(not as long as we have),_ and that means something, too.

He hears Ali giggle and the telling smack of lips and has to bite his lip to keep from making a sound of his own. It helps that there are subtitles to concentrate on reading, something to keep him from casually flicking a glance to the nearby couch, where he can hear springs creaking and clothing rustling and harsh panting.

He wonders whose brilliant idea it was to try the Viagra, and then realises it was his own. It had seemed like a good idea at the time, but now, looking back, it was bloody stupid. What did he think would end up happening, himself alone and Billy with his girlfriend? They’ll end up fucking, of course, and he…

_Nevermind him._

Billy groans, and the sound draws Dominic’s eyes like a magnet. He immediately wishes that he hadn’t looked, because Billy’s hand is up Ali’s shirt and her hand is cupping his crotch and they can’t possibly look any more like they belong together than at that exact moment.

He’s biting his lip so hard that there will probably be a bruise in the morning. He is completely unconscious of his own hand rubbing over the zip of his jeans until he hears Ali’s giggle again. Dimly, he hears her say something about this not being a free show, and that he needs to leave the room and let them get on with it in private.

Billy doesn’t say anything, just leans in to kiss her neck, but his eyes meet Dominic’s over her shoulder. Green and dilated, and he’s obviously a little drunk and very aroused, and his hands don’t stop rubbing and stroking Ali, but his eyes are on Dominic, just Dominic. He kisses up the curve of her neck, nibbles her earlobe, all the while looking at Dominic, and Dominic can’t stop his hand, _rubrubrub_ over the fucking _tent_ in his jeans.

“Billeeee,” Ali whispers, and she’s trying to push him away and rub against him at the same time. She looks over her shoulder, at where Dominic is still sitting, _rubrubrub,_ and says something low and heated in Billy’s ear.

Billy says his name, and his accent is so thick that it almost doesn’t come through, it’s just a gravelly purr, low and lusty _(for her),_ and he jerks his head. Toward the door, and Dominic gets the hint.

_Out. Now._

Standing is painful but walking is worse, and every single rub of his jeans makes him think he’s going to explode. He imagines that he can feel every tooth of the zipper through his boxers, _rubscratchpull_ against his overly sensitized skin. The movie is still going on in the background, the constant stream of French adding a bizarre background to an already bizarre scene, and Dominic feels drunk. He staggers across the room, tripping over Ali’s red sandals and the coffee table and Billy’s empty guitar case, and collapses against the doorframe. He doesn’t think he can go any farther, he’ll just stop here and die a sweet and sexually frustrated death.

He looks over his shoulder, and now Ali’s straddling Billy’s lap, the bottoms of her bare feet flashing white against the couch, his hands gripping her buttocks. She is kissing Billy’s throat, working on the buttons of his shirt, but Billy is still staring over her shoulder, staring at Dominic with half-lidded green eyes. They are frozen, staring at each other with Ali between them, and to Dominic the moment seems to go on and on without end.

Then he hears the soft _shhzzt_ of Billy’s zip being lowered, and he jolts suddenly into motion, closes his eyes and turns and bumps the door shut all at once. The door clicks into place, and Dominic slides down, hands scrabbling frantically at his jeans, and by the time his arse hits the ground they are around his ankles. The door is thin and he can hear them through it _(moan and gasp and slap of skin-on-skin),_ and his hand is moving with the staccato sounds _(up and twist and down and squeeze)_ and then his hips are thrusting, too.

It’s over suddenly, with a burst of white behind his eyelids and wetness in his palm, and he is left gasping and panting on the floor, his pants around his ankles, and still half-hard. And he can still hear them, the sounds getting louder and more frantic, like a bad porn flick, and his head thumps against the door as he listens, because he can’t move yet, but all he wants to do is get away.

Billy’s strangled cry signals the crescendo, and it burns in Dominic’s ears, feels like a burst of too-cold air, leaving him shivering and clutching his head.

The silence that follows is almost worse, and as soon as Dominic can make his legs respond, he hitches his trousers up and staggers to his feet. He crawls along the walls and furniture and door frames until he reaches the door to his room (the _guestroom,_ Billy tells him, but no one else ever stays there). The bed is a little too hard, and it jars him uncomfortably as he flops onto it, but he can’t summon the energy to be annoyed. He’s hard again, but he hasn’t got the energy to take care that, either, and instead he just rolls over and tries to go to sleep.

After all, Billy won’t miss him as long as Ali’s around.


End file.
